


i am just a freak

by achesforhim



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Camerashipping, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Instability, Post-Mount Massive Asylum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28870920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achesforhim/pseuds/achesforhim
Summary: i dream of you almost every nighthopefully I won't wake up this time
Relationships: Waylon Park/Miles Upshur
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	i am just a freak

**Author's Note:**

> this first chapter took about... 2-3 hours to write and it's probably VERY messy but have at it. chap 2 will be coming soon.

“Does it hurt?” 

Cracks and slits of moonlight shone through the numerous etches in the minute cabin that Waylon Park and Miles Upshur were cooped up in, living an incognito lifestyle. Hell, if either of them were to be seen in public, they’d either get their head blown off or throw the whole town into a scare.

Park sacrificed his entire life, family, job, money, everything to expose Murkoff. The divorce papers were signed and definitely dusty by now, Lisa taking custody of his boys..  _ His boys.  _ Waylon remembers seeing the downcasted and hurt looks on their faces when they saw their father for the first time in a week and a half. Scratched up, bloody, salty tears running down his cheeks in regret. There wasn’t anything else he could do. Other lives of innocent patients were damn more worthy than his own. Miles’ “Holy Grail” was worthy. 

“Everything hurts.” Miles sneers back.

Icy cold water was sliding down his bare chest, wetting down the dried old blood that tangled in the grown in chest hair, the bloodied water soaking into the towels Waylon placed on the bathroom floor for him. With a washcloth in hand, Miles was cleaning his bullet peppered and dried scarred body. 

It’d been about 3 weeks since he “died.” One week spent lying aimlessly in his own puddle of blood, his head full with empty thoughts. The rest he spent fighting back the demon he had to control in his body. Temper was a no go - if he was misled with an argument, the opponent would be left to shreds at his feet. The Walrider had a mind of it’s own. 

Miles had nightmares every night. Visions of the gore, the dead patients and innocent beings at his feet, with the burden that it was _ his own fault.  _

“Shut the fuck up. You’ve got gunshots all over your body…” Waylon had his shoulder leaned up against the bathroom’s door frame, gray t-shirt and jeans on with dog print socks. Despite Miles, he had a week or two to recover. Of course there is never a true recovery, but his injuries were professionally cared for. The journalist, on the other hand..

“There aren’t any bullets in me. Just scars that don’t heal. Blood that won’t dry.” The taller of the two sighed as he gazed down at his scar covered body, wiping away any remaining blood.

Waylon made the choice to come back to the asylum after hearing about a missing journalist. He knew who it was, and knew that the right thing to do was to help. Hell, he knew things that others didn’t. The host of the Nazi’s nanobyte swarm was just about to flee when he came face to face with the man that began this all. It wasn’t a warm meeting, for obvious reasons. 

That week, Park offered to let Miles stay at his secluded cabin out in the woods, miles from socialization, something that was needed indefinitely if they wanted to keep their lives - his life, at least.

And that leaves them to present time.

“Eh. Can’t reach my back. Give me a hand?”

Waylon pushes himself up off the door frame and readjusts his glasses, snagging the bloodied washcloth from Miles, who was turning to put his back to the other. The dirty blonde began gently wiping the blood from his back, slowly but with good intentions of getting the job done thoroughly. 

The silence was gutting them both.

“You know, Wernicke was always a bastard. At least that’s what I heard from others.. I never spoke to him. A very selective guy.” Waylon poked at a conversation.

“Makes sense, the old man was on the bridge of death. One tap and he’d be down.”

“You met him?” Waylon paused to squeeze the washcloth off into the bathtub before dipping it back into the sink of fresh water.

“How do you think I got peppered like this?” 

There’s more silence before Waylon finishes cleaning Upshur’s back off, keeping washcloth in hand to throw in the wash later. There wasn’t a word from the journalist. He stood completely still in front of the decently sized mirror, eyes burning into his own skull. Park clenched his fists that held the cloth, blinking a few times before nodding to himself and exiting the bathroom. It was the second time Miles had blacked out and stood as if he had a million thoughts in his mind, but none were readable through his empty gaze. A dark, empty gaze full of stories. 

Truthfully, it annoyed the dirty blonde. After cleaning the bathroom up, he was met with the same empty gaze of Miles who was getting himself dressed again. Instead of getting ignored, he actually peered over to the other this time.

“Stop being so inconsiderate. I didn’t even want you to stay here. And now I  _ really  _ don’t want you to be here if you aren’t even going to thank me for doing all this for you,”

Miles stood and stared, a bit of emotion finally protruding on his pale face. Park continued.

“I don’t want you to be here because I’m guilty of my faults. You’re my fault.”

There’s that certain pang in your chest you get when told the most unbelievable news in the world, whether it’s good or not; the pang that drains all sense of neutrality.

Upshur took a few steps closer to Waylon, his lips pressed together, a bit of a twitch every few seconds as his eyebrows slowly came together. He was choking on his words.

“ _ You don’t know what it’s like. _ ” Was all he said, looming over the other now, his chest rising and falling with his vehemence filled breaths. 

Waylon was quick to snap back, arching his neck and raising his voice to respond. The room was quickly filled with an intense aura, the air getting heavier and warmer by the second.

“Of course I know what it's like! I lost _ everything _ , Miles! My family, my job, _ everything _ !”

Seconds after Park finished his acknowledgement, his back was being pushed with force against the wall behind him, Miles’ hands clenched at the collar of his shirt. A hum was in the air now, which had begun to fog with a darker smog, the blood from the journalists face draining impossibly emptier. 

‘Temper is a no go.’

“ _ The worst feeling ever is to have nothing and lose everything _ ,  _ Waylon _ .” 

Dead silence. The strong hands were slowly released from his collar, and the heavy air was lifted as Miles left the room, taking it with him. Waylon was left alone in the room, the same dead look on his face that Miles had earlier. 


End file.
